The King is dead Long live who?
by thorin's majestic beard
Summary: The Goblin King (long may he live in the afterlife) is dead. Gandalf cut his his throat during the escape of the Company out of Goblin-Town. But... the king has left no heir! So who will be the next king? The noble people of Goblin-Town will democratically choose! But obviously there are some very strange wannabe kings and queens, each with their own weird followers...
1. Chapter 1

**The Goblin Times**

_**The juicy news from under the Misty Mountains!**_

**Public Announcement**

_By your faithful reporter, Azûl._

A shock went through the entire Goblin community after what happened to our King (long may he live in the afterlife) when he valiantly tried to prevent the treacherous Dwarves and the Wizard from escaping Goblin-Town. The Wizard cut through his majestic flap, belly, and throat. This became too much for our King (long may he live in the afterlife), and he fell from the bridge he was so valiantly defending, to his death.

Maybe the most tragic fact above all, is that our King (long may he live in the afterlife) didn't leave an heir to the throne. Therefore, the Goblin Authorities have sincerely requested goblins of noble blood to apply for the function of King (m/f), and after a strict selection by the Authorities, a king will be chosen out of the remaining candidates by the goblin people.

The election shall be planned at March 26th, at the Torturer's Square in Goblin-town. Be there at sunset, for your vote will be most welcome.

Entry only for 18+ folks. No trolls, men, elves, hobbits, or other despicable creatures allowed during the election.


	2. Chapter 2: The first candidate

Chapter 1

The first candidate

It was dark in the cave. Only the light of four torches lit the small, round, hacked out room. The eight candidates, who wore black robes, stood surprisingly still as the hand of the King inspected them. Few had come, thought Kraznâk. He was part of the jury, part of the group to choose only four candidates out of the eight who had come. The others would do the rest, in a senseless debate about who was the best, who had the best plans with the foreign relationships and who was the most opened minded. It turned out that the ones with open minds usually ended up with an open skull as well, so for the sake of his fellow Goblins, he hoped there would be none of the eight who would dare to mention their open-mindedness.

No, in the end it wouldn't matter very much if you had the best plans for the people, but who had the most similar looks in comparison to the previous king. It was always the same. Ten years ago, by example, the king tripped and fell into the abyss. If he lived or not, no one could tell, since nobody dared to descend the ravine and check the king out for a pulse. And of course, that King hadn't left an heir as well, so Goblin-town had to go through the same madness as it would have today. Some candidates plead for better infrastructure, since the last time the roads in Goblin-town had seen proper maintenance, was around the time that the Dark Lord forged his Master-Ring. Others wished to see improved relationships with the other races (you probably know that they were the ones with a _very_ open mind). Another one was praising the majesticness of his flap under his chin (which was very fashionable at the time), and the last candidate was an Elf, who said that he wanted to keep in touch with his far removed kin (after all, Goblins do descend from Elves, no matter how hard we are trying to forget that history.) He didn't live very long either. His bowels were very tasty, though.

Kraznâk took a look at the gathered. Eight had come, yes, but their faces were hard to see. Why did they always have to wear black cloaks with hoods? Perhaps it was just a way the Goblin nobles liked to dress. If it was, then the Goblin fashion had little influence on the noble dress code.

His eyes fell on the Hand of the King, a huge, somewhat asocial, brutish and trollish Goblin. He had served the last King well, and the King before him too. There have been some talks about his Trollish mother among the citizens, and everyone was always slightly disturbed by the fact that his father was Goblin and his mother was a Troll.

The jury members were men he didn't or barely knew. The largest Goblin of the three was said to hate Dwarves so badly that he would eat them with armour, skin and beard if he had the chance. Kraznâk didn't know his name; perhaps he was one of the many who did not have a name. He decided to call him Skinny: easy to remember.

The other member was a tiny Goblin with a meagre face, and some very sharp teeth. 'Creepy' would be a good name for him.

"Are you ready to hear the story of the first candidate?" whispered Creepy.

"I think I am. What's your name, by the way?"

"I have none."

"Then I will call you Creepy."

Creepy looked somewhat bewildered, but didn't get a chance to defend himself.

"Very well, let's get to the order of the day and attend to the matter which made us all gather here and waste our valuable time." They'd better be done with this by the end of the day; Kraznâk still had the laundry to do.

"You there! The first on the left! What do you have to say?" Everyone in the cavern fell silent as the Hand of the King shouted at the first candidate on the left of the row.

"Let's just pretend we are in honourable company, shall we?" muttered Kraznâk.

The Hand was known to be a little impolite.

The little Goblin started to speak with a little shaking voice.

"I wish to make the Goblins a proud people once again. We should gather our forces, take up our arms, and fight our way out. We must break out the mountain, and attack the treacherous nasty Elves in Lórien. After we killed every last one of them, and ravaged their woods, we continue to march east and slay every Hobbit we meet."

He fell silent for a while. The jury clearly was thinking deeply about the speech of this little warlike Goblin.

"What about the internal politics?", asked a jury member after a few minutes of silence. "We may conquer it all, but wouldn't we suffer from imperial overstretch? And how are you going to fight poverty here in Goblin-town? With the economical crisis since the introduction of one common Orcish coin, the poverty in the lower levels of the town have become unbearable."

Silence. The torches on the wall threw a thrilling light on the battered walls of the room, and the light flickered in the small Goblin's eyes.

"If I may be so bold to add a few questions?" Kraznâk straightened his bent back. "You speak of taking up our arms. When last I looked, my arms were hanging right in their joints. Not only my arms were still in place, but also the arms of my colleagues, your fellow candidates and yours as well, are still hanging were they should be. If they are still in place, then why should we bother to take them up? It would be a terrible waste of time, if one would ask me.

You suggest that we take Lórien. If we have to attack Lórien, we must leave the mountains. Who will protect our beloved homeland if we're not around? And how are we going to survive in daylight?

You have mentioned the annihilation of the Hobbits in the East. My topography is a little hazy as well, but I happen to be aware of the fact that The Shire, homeland of the Hobbits, lies in the Western part of Middle-Earth."

The fat face of the small Goblin started to show signs of sadness.

A large member of the jury stood up, bumped his head into the low ceiling, and started to talk.

"My evaluation: this man has a great heart for the greatness and prowess of our people. He hates Elves, Men, Hobbits, and especially Dwarves. That is a great bonus to me."

The candidate started to smile.

"But for your impetuosity you would make a bad king. You don't even have a plan for the internal politics of the realm! How could the people rely on you?" His voice started to teach the volume of an overworked town bell. "Your incompetence shows off with the complete absence of a flap under your chin!" The poor Goblin recoiled under this terrible accusation.

"But I have a fat face! That must count for.."

"Put that heap of filth in the corner!" shouted The Hand to the Horned Guards.

"But sir, this is a round room, how are we going to put him in a corner if there are no..."

"I DON'T CARE!"

The guards took the little Goblin out of the cavern, while he was screaming for reconsideration.

"One last formality!" cried Kraznâk, with a pen in his hand and a piece of parchment on the table. "What is your name?"

"Kim-Zongûn! It is Kim-Zongûn! Isn't that good enough? Please reconsider! Please! Don't put me away like this! I will raise an army myself! I will..."

His cries for mercy and revenge echoed away in the corridors, until it was silent once more.

"Time for the next candidate.", the large Goblin announced.

**AN: Remember the name of that poor little guy with his fat face? This is a parody, right? **

**I hope you liked it. Feel free to post a review. Except if you are North-Korean, of course ;-)**


	3. Chapter 3: The second victim

**AN: To get one thing straight, or actually two: I don't want to insult any people with certain opinions. I don't want to humiliate people who have limitations like the person described in this particular chapter. That is below any level.**

**Second: I noticed I did not include a disclaimer yet. Here comes:**

"**I solemnly swear that the characters, locations, la-di-da-di-da, and what other stuff from Tolkien is actually NOT mine. Except my own characters, of course." **

**I hope that was good enough.**

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As silence was once again lord and master in the cavern, Kraznâk considered it was time for the next candidate.

"We all know that last man didn't really live up to our expectations, and therefore we removed him from our midst. I sincerely hope none of you have any substantial objections against that decision. Any questions?"

It remained silent, probably because no one dared to say anything.

"I expected as much. Very well. You there, sitting on your knees... Why are you sitting on your knees?"

A pair of yellow eyes stared up from underneath the hood. A soft voice sounded through the room.

"I lost my lower legs twenty years ago. I'm not SITTING on my knees, I'm STANDING on my knees!"

The Hand smirked. "I know this fellow."

Creepy nodded. "Sho do I. Guy got himshelf nearly killed when he fell off a bridge." Kraznâk looked somewhat disturbed to his right. Since when did Creepy lisp?

"If I may interrupt, I fear there is some meat stuck between your teeth."

Creepy turned to Kraznâk, and drew an angry face. "You can't shay shuch things in civilised company!" he whispered loudly.

"We are not in _civilised _company."

"What?"

"Never mind." Kraznâk noticed they were being watched. "Excuse me for this untimely interruption. I bet your impatience must have brought you to your knees," he spoke to the unlucky short Goblin. The latter got a slight red shade over his face.

"I fell indeed off a bridge. The wood was all rotten, so it easily gave in. I fell about fifteen meters before I hit another bridge, hanging right under the rotten one. It broke the speed of my fall a little, but not enough to prevent my legs from shattering in a hundred pieces, because that bridge was rotten as well and I fell through it again. The bottom of the cave was only ten meters farther below, and, ..."

"Causality at its finest", interrupted Kraznâk. "I don't want to be rude, but I don't see any relevance for the realm in this story of yours. Could you just move on to your statements and save your pitiful story for your autobiography, which of course will be signed by yourself? Thank you, I have lots of other things to do today."

The wannabe king got even more red, and some parts of his face even turned purple. The poor man must be having a really high blood pressure.

"I want to improve the infrastructure here in Goblin-town. You see, the shelves of the bridges are rotten, and not safe to be used by Trolls, the roads are... well, abysmal, haven't seen any repairs for centuries, and the sewers are non-existent. The groundwater will rise every now and then, and when it does, it floods the lower circles of the town. We can't allow that to happen."

"Why not?" The Hand of the King stepped out of a dark corner of the room. (**AN: How he managed to do that in a round cavern is still the talk of the realm**.) "Sewers, roads, strengthened bridges, drainage... where is that kind of stuff being used?" He moved slowly towards the tiny Goblin.

"Well, Elves use them too, but..."

"That's what I mean!" The Hand exploded once again. "Elves are civilised! And we are not! We must keep it that way! For the prowess of the nation!" The candidates trembled.

The echo of the explosion tided away down the corridors. Then, suddenly, The Hand took a deep breath, straightened his back, bumped his head again, cursed, and stepped back in the darkness of the corner.

"Thank you, Hand, for sharing your thoughts with us," said Kraznâk, and to the candidate: "I have to say that I agree with him. For there is a prowess in the Goblin-people, that lies in the absence of civilisation. We can't just improve the infrastructure. It is a part of ourselves." Approving sounds were audible in the dark cavern. "If we build all that what you just proposed, we would throw away our identity as a people, and become nothing more than those nasty Elves with their fancy buildings and facilities. Or like the..." He swallowed. "... Dwarves with their nice stonework and jewels."

"Not only that," continued Creepy, "but I just love the feeling of wet feet, or to walk through water levelled at my knees. It is a bit awkward if you wear a knee long robe, but if you tiptoe, it shouldn't be a problem."

The candidate's face turned deep purple.

"That's it," confirmed Skinny. "I think it is even better if you have some water for your legs. And it flushes away the dirt between your toes. And what about the roads? It is a little bumpy, so you won't easily use a cart. If you carry it yourself, you will strengthen your ankles."

"And get you some callus on your soles," added The Hand. "Have you ever seen mine? I will show you if you..."

"Let us again pretend we are in civilised company." Kraznâk ended the waterfall of insults. "The quality of this conversation is hundreds of feet below the normal level. To conclude this matter, your statement will find no foothold amongst the people. And it doesn't make any sense if they kneel for you, because you kneel for them all the time. About those bridges. You will only fall several feet before you hit the ground. You might get hurt a little, but not directly fatally. And if someone falls to his death, it would be only for the better of us. It is a great way to control overcrowding. Unless someone else stumbles across the current state of our roads, nothing will ever happen to it. I kneel to your nobility and your love for our people, but renovating the roads, and add a sewers, is simply a bridge too far. Enjoy the life as it is, stretch your legs every now and then, take a long walk, get some callus on your feet, and probably some on your soul as well."

The Goblin, now with a deep purpled skin, held his tongue, grabbed his walking sticks that leaned against the wall, and moved his way out of the room. No one in the cavern said a word. They listened how the poor man, groaning and gasping, made his way through the corridor. Then, suddenly, they heard the sound of a stick slipping on stone, a horrible scream and a few seconds later, a terrible smack.

"I believe he is six feet under", whispered the next candidate.

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**AN: Aww, that poor little guy really had to endure some terrible insults... But then again, he was not in civilised company.**

**You are, as it happens, and therefore you are free to review yet another chapter. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! **


	4. Chapter 4: The Female Perspective

**AN: Sorry for the late update. But I'm still standing! (Yeah, yeah, yeah!) University can be a bit of a spoilsport every now and then. Anyway, enjoy this new, democratic chapter.**

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The whole cavern was filled with the noise of laughter, and for a few seconds, nobody was able to speak. After a minute, Kraznâk regained control over himself, stopped laughing, and stood up from his chair. He spread his arms, and called everyone's attention. This was going to take far too long, and if it wasn't done within two hours, his wife would get very mad at him because he hadn't finished the laundry yet. "Dear fellows, two candidates have been removed from our midst, and it is time that we should choose someone who will actually make it to the election. Let the third noble tell his story."

"May I correct you, noble Kraznâk, and tell you that I'm not a man, but a woman?"

The Goblins muttered and rumoured in the dark cavern. "How dare you to come here? This is no place for women! It's the laundry for you!" Creepy was beside himself.

"Well, I actually need someone to do the job..." Kraznâk slowly raised his hand.

He was ignored by the outraged Goblins, who made death threats ranging from incineration to quartering. Then they started to argue that incineration was better than quartering. According to The Hand, incineration would be a waste of the flesh, but Creepy mentioned the advantage of the flesh being roasted already, and therefore saving firewood and time.

Kraznâk raised up, and called everybody to reconsider. "Please, gentlemen, prove your manliness and shut up! Let this brave lady speak!"

The roaring and screaming all suddenly stopped. Creepy's mouth fell wide open. "Did he jusht shay that...?"

The female Goblin took a step forward and took her advantage of the situation. "Dear nobles, fellow Goblins!" she spoke firmly. "For too long have we quarrelled amongst ourselves, about the most stupid matters. This must stop immediately. If we are going to be a strong, unified people, we have to live with our differences. Therefore, I plea for equal rights of female Goblins," (it became uncomfortably quiet in the room), "the right of free speech, and the ban of open or concealed carrying of arms. The people must have a word in the government as well. It is unheard of that we, the greatest and proudest race of all, have no equal rights and no influence in the everyday policy of the Goblin government."

"But that is just like offering the commoners freedom!" cried Tiny. "If we do that, then everyone will rebel against us! Demonstrations, strikes, chaos! Blood! Death!" With every word his tone became higher, until he started to scream. "How are we going to control the people then?"

The woman seemed to hesitate, looked to the ground, and took a deep breath. "We must give them something worth controlling them." Baffled voices all over the room. Even Kraznâk scratched his chin in wonder. "What does that mean, my lady?"

She looked up, straight in his eyes. "We must stop cheating the people from their rightful dues! We must stop discriminating women, Elves, Men, and Dwarves. They are our enemies because we didn't want peace with them, while they offered it to us countless times! It is time for atonement of the government to the other races in Middle-Earth. We must stop waging war. How many lives have we lost for so little gain? And how long have women been discriminated by their male fellow Goblins? It is sad that women have so little influence... A good example of that is the way you men treated me when you first saw me a few moments ago. We women will rise up, and fight for our rights!" The cavern was filled with completely bewildered Goblin-men.

It was like the cavern took a deep breath. Then, there was an explosion of sound.

It took Kraznâk several minutes, scratches, bruised bones and three teeth to restore the order. He even heroically saved the lady from a lynching party at the hands of the outraged Goblins. Battered and bleeding, he walked back to his seat, nearly slipped over someone's blood, and settled himself. He was out of breath. He sincerely hoped that the next king wouldn't get his throat cut by some wizard or dwarf anytime soon. This was getting bad for his health. And it took way too much time. His wife would get really mad at him...

"After some recent events, I think your statement has little support under the Goblin people. Still, I admire your will to do something for the Goblins. Perhaps, I should let you go to the next round." No one had enough strength or blood left to fight. Not even Tiny. The latter nodded. So did Creepy. The Hand was nowhere to be seen, and no news was good news, Kraznâk thought.

"Then henceforth, you shall be the very first female candidate to make a claim to the throne." Clearly filled with pride, the woman stepped forth. "Thank you for your consideration," she said, and bowed for the jury members (or what was left of them). Kraznâk wiped some blood from his face. "You're welcome."

She stepped back to her former place against the wall. Creepy leaned to Kraznâk. "Are you really shure that'sh a good idea?" he whispered.

Kraznâk grinned. "What's an election without some intestines flying around, eh?" He winked.

Creepy smirked. "Great idea."

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**AN: Feel free to review and alert. It is your human right.**


	5. Chapter 5: Don't sir me!

**AN: My dear readers, I am truly sorry I kept you waiting for so long… I hope you are not offended, and I promise you that I will upload more often. Enjoy this new chapter!**

No one had enough strength or blood left to continue to fight, and Kraznâk took advantage of the situation. "My dear brothers, and to some extent, sisters. I am terribly insulted by the fact that you all start to fight at the sight of a courageous woman, whose ambition is to become our new Ki- excuse me – Queen." He waited for a while. "We are not nearly done yet with the Sorting of our Candidates. We've only had three, and there are about four more to go. Let's continue, before…"He hesitated. "Before we all get killed here."

The Goblins murmured. Suddenly, Skinny dug himself from a pile of dead bodies. "Wait!" he shouted. "Wait for me! My opinion should be noted as well!"

Like everyone was so concerned about Skinny's opinion about the current state of affairs, thought Kraznâk. Certainly, this man should get a realistic vision of himself.

"I just inspected the dead, sir, and it appears to be that, eh… that only one candidate survived the slaugh – eh, the confrontation, sir. That means, sir, that…"

"… Don't sir me, man, and say what you have to say! I don't care about a few dead bodies! The more, the better! As it happens, I still have something better to do at home, and if I don't finish it, I must have some divorce papers signed because my wife will not thank me if I don't complete that job! And thanks to your stupid Elvish politeness, courtliness and other habits that only imply the influence of anything that is not Orcish, I'm running out of time and we still have the official elections to be done! So spit it out, you maggot, and be done with it!"

The remaining crowd was totally flabbergasted by Kraznâk's tirade, and did not dare to say a word.

Only Creepy found the courage to speak to the heavily breathing Kraznâk.

"Shir, I-"

"Don't sir me!"

"I'm sorry shir, but"

"What did I just say!?"

Creepy shivered in fear.

"Don't shir me, shir, but"  
"What does that mean?"

"I don't know, shir, but-"

"It means: don't say 'sir' to me", Kraznâk said terribly calm.

"Undershtood, err…" Creepy didn't know what to say. "My lord."

A grin appeared on Kraznâk's face. "Very good, sir."

"Why do you say 'shir' to me?"

"What is the problem, sir?" asked Kraznâk, seemingly not knowing what the point was.

"You just said shir to me, my lord."

"I didn't say 'shir', but sir. Do you find that a troubling fact, sir?"

"No, not at all…"

"So what's your problem then, sir?"

Creepy sighed. "Never mind."

"But what did you want to say, sir?"

"I thought, my lord, that you may have taken too much shtreshsh. It would be better for our caushe if you left the responshibility of chooshing Candidatesh in our handsh."

Kraznâk hesitated before he spoke. "I believe you want to say that I am too stressed to do the job. Well, lady and gentlemen, I am still perfectly capable of taking my responsibilities. Don't worry. Everything is going to be well. But which candidates do we have left?"

Skinny raised his hand. "I was just going to say that, er, my lord. There is one guy left somewhere under here – " he pointed a pile of dead bodies, "that still wears a black cloak, and is still alive."

Kraznâk looked bewildered. "Well, that will do. That means that we have three final Candidates to be chosen. Let us make preparations for the elections."

"Hey Kraznâk!" a heavy voice shouted from the back of the room. "There's only two of them! And we have no idea who that bloke lying somewhere on the floor is!"

"If I had not known that you've had some form of education before you became Hand of the King," replied Kraznâk, "I would be downright impressed by your counting skills. But you know what, my dear sir: I will be the third candidate."

Once again, the cavern was filled with unrest. The crowd shouted insults and complaints. "You have no right to do that!" cried an unusual meagre Goblin. "You don't have a flap under your chin, and you are not large enough!"

"You are not of noble blood!" shouted another one.

Kraznâk remained icily calm. "Well, I have so much of noble blood all over my body thanks to you lot, that I can safely consider myself to be of noble blood. And no, I don't have a flap. And I am not large. But that, my friends, comes with the years… and with all the juicy Dwarves and Elves that dare to set foot inside our noble town!"

At once, the cavern was filled with evil laughter. "Now then, let's move on, sirs, let's move on! Or the laundry will never be done!"


End file.
